A Meaningful Conversation and a Dance with Fire
by Konstantinsen
Summary: A former Allied commander meets with a powerful man at his behest. What follows later on is sealed behind closed doors... and marked by events that many hoped would never be repeated.
1. Chapter 1

**NOTE: I rewrote most of this story and still can't up with what happens next. Oh, well. Enjoy this slightly revamped plot.**

* * *

><p>They splashed water in her face. She came to and felt her hands bound above her head. They were cold and numb from days of abuse. Somehow, it was still dark although she felt some light on her face. She reached for her feet and felt nothing below. She was dangling from an unknown height although she felt sure it wasn't so high.<p>

The shock of the cold water was enough to revitalize her already tired body. They had already wrapped a blindfold around her eyes and made sure she was well awake. She dreaded another interrogation where once more, she would be beaten, scarred, and probably violated—an act that was yet to occur.

She gasped for air and felt a strong hand cup her chin. "Good morning, Lissette."

She hated that voice. Her ego had been cracked so many times by that bastard. "What do you want?" she demanded weakly.

"Good news, my dear." Lissette wished she could spit in the man's face. She hated that tone more than she hated her interrogator.

"Getting transferred to another cell block? Sucks for you, asshole…"

"Always a feisty one. The Premier wishes to have an audience with you."

"Yeah, right." They poured another bucket over her as a response.

"If you keep this up, you wouldn't look too presentable. After all, you're the special guest. Perhaps he will give you a pardon."

She struggled to scramble together a verbal jab but succumbed to the shakes. Her hands were numb and her feet were sore. It was an agonizing moment that seemed to stretch on for an hour until the rope above her head was undone and she fell to the floor hard, her ankles sending bulges of pain up her leg.

Lissette quickly assumed the fetal position to recover warmth. She felt the man's breath on her ear. "Take this as a warning: do not make the Premier angry." It was an order delivered by a chilling voice. "Take her."

Two pairs of arms picked her up while a covered her head in a sack. She would have complained but her strength waned as quickly as she had gained them awhile back. Instead, the former Allied commander let herself be dragged across the hall to _God knows where_.

* * *

><p>The light blared against her eyes and she had to squint to keep from suffering retina damage. The Lubyanka was an abyss in itself and functioning light bulbs were a rarity. Her limbs were free and aching. But at least she was out of her cell.<p>

A man was looking at her, thoroughly going through her body with his eyes. She felt compelled to slap him until she remembered her previous clinical visits. This was the same doctor who treated her. As to why they wanted her alive when they clearly could have killed her under torture was varied: revenge and information. He drew a stethoscope and pressed it against her chest. She couldn't really move so she decided to stay put and let this trained professional do his job.

The same guards were standing by the doorway, keeping a close eye on her. _Dipshits._

The check-up did not take long and the doctor gave his assessment. She watched one of the soldiers approach her with the sack in his hand.

"Woohoo, I'm good to go," she teased. The soldier didn't mind. He hated this bitch so much that he just wanted to be rid of her (considering they were ordered to kill her). The bag came down roughly and she felt herself being yanked off the gurney. _I hate these assholes._

* * *

><p>This was something she did not entirely expect. She turned around and knew that they had locked the door. There was only a narrow ventilation shaft just below the ceiling and a wardrobe under it.<p>

_What is this place?_ It was a dressing room. She looked at the mirror and studied herself for a moment. _Bedraggled and worn out. I'm just lucky to be alive._ Yet she felt a sense of uncertainty as she took in her surroundings. _Why this? That was bastard wasn't really joking, was he?_ She picked up the comb, feeling it in her hands as though one would a diamond.

The men had already left, locking her in another more comfortable confinement. At least the chair was cushioned. And there was a neatly folded set of clothes on the bench. _What the hell?_ Surprisingly, it was an Allied officer's uniform. What made it more astonishing was that it was hers. Everything, including the pin that held her name-tag, was in place, free of dirt and grime and sown into perfect condition. _Just as I left it…_ She couldn't recall the last time she wore it. Although she did remember having it stripped from her sooner after the fall of Spain.

To her right was a bathroom complete with a shower. Seeing the tiled cubicle and the glass pane was enough to make her grateful for the freedom. She savored the warm water on her face and took her time in cleaning and recovering lost areas of her body. The bruises made her wince but it didn't take long for her to fix up.

There were no other clothes than the ones provided. _Bastards really want me to look presentable. I'll show them the good old-fashioned Lissette Hanley._

The guards returned fifteen minutes later, finding the former Allied commander in full regalia posing before the mirror. They stared at her, as though having forgotten what their task was and why an enemy officer was in their presence.

"So are you just going to stand there or are you going to take me to see the big guy?" Confidence was in her voice, brought about the same feeling she had when she still had armies to command. _God, I can feel like ordering these jerks around._

The men shook off the distraction and placed the bag over her head.

_Dickheads. _"Great. So you really don't trust me," she complained as they took her by her hands and led her to a car waiting at Dzerzhinsky Square. She remained in the dark until the Kremlin's doors closed behind her.

* * *

><p>The office was grandiose in its splendor. A bust of Lenin to the right, a display screen to the left, bookshelves all around, and the hammer-and-sickle on the floor—<em>what an office<em>—it was almost similar to the one she saw when Cherdenko was still in office. The Kremlin's halls were enough to impress her with its antiquity and design but the office of the Premier himself was somewhat lacking anything. It suited, somewhat, the ideology of her captors.

Her guards shuffled behind her and locked the door; Lissette knew they would just be standing outside with a Spetsnaz team ready to bust in if anything went wrong. To her, it reminded her of her espionage days in the French directorates. But instead of cutting someone's neck or lacing someone's drink, she was standing in front of an empty desk, looking at the back of a man who looked over the balcony.

She felt like pushing him over but didn't have the strength to do so. The Lubyanka's poor treatment ensured that.

The Premier straightened his back and entered, shutting the doors behind him. _Son of a bitch. _She stared at him, cursing her inability to speak.

"It's been some time," he began. Much to her surprise, his English was _very_ good. Well, he almost never talked to her during the War.

"The same with you," she finally replied.

"Have a drink?"

"I don't see any wine glasses anywhere." She didn't even bother to look.

"They're all in my desk."

She grunted. "Fancy that."

The Premier opened up a drawer and pulled out two slender glasses. "Do you drink?" he asked, setting them on the table and reaching his hand back into the liquor compartment.

"On the contrary, I prefer water."

He retrieved two glasses and a glass pitcher filled with water. She could never wonder how everything in this room looked so clean.

He poured in their respective drinks and pushed hers towards the end of other end of his desk, motioning to one of the seats. She obliged, taking her place on the right as well as the glass in her hands.

There was a tense awkward moment. Both pairs of eyes connected, both minds trying to read the other. The Premier was the first to take a sip.

"So, how are things?" he asked rather casually.

"Fine until Spain turned Red."

"Comrade Oleg did well."

Lissette feigned a grin. "Do give him my compliments." _Asshole._

"You also have my respects, Commander."

That was something. "Why thank you, Premier." _What gives? What's this all about?_

"Also with Commander Price."

"I'll send him your compliments when I get back to my cell." Her eyes narrowed.

_Alright, you asked for it._ "I'm sure you are aware of how the War has gone so far."

"Europe falls. The Empire falls. The United States is left standing in your way and even the President is fucked up." She had never spoken this casually to an individual of immense power. Her mind still felt tired.

"We were astonished as well." He refilled his glass. "The Empire holds a lot of surprises."

"We all hold surprises."

"You are correct. In fact, we have brokered a ceasefire with the United States in hopes of putting an end to this conflict."

_You're shitting me._ News was a rarity in the cold confines of the Lubyanka underground. "Oh? And you're telling me this why?" _This is bullshit…or it could be true._

"You will be proof that we would not be backstabbing the Allies"—_what's left of them_—"in this meeting. A gesture of goodwill as many would put it."

Hanley felt her body go stiff. _You son of a bitch._ "You're saying that I'm bait?" she fumed. _Some sort of… meat that you wave to a dog so it would be obliged to do what you want?_ "A tool?"

"No. _Proof_." They stared into each other for the next half minute. Lissette planted her hands firmly on the Premier's desk, glaring daggers into him. The stress of all her jail time was coming to a hilt.

"I'm not going to be used as a play toy for whatever you're scheming. No deal."

"It seems that you do not understand our goals. What we want is an end to this War—"

"Right. Like we'd all forget Easter Island."

"You were not the only enemy there, mind you." That earned him Hanley's ire. She was ready to call him all the negatives she had in her mind when he cut her off. "Right after Bingham's defeat we were greeted by a barrage of surprise attacks by our own troops under our own Defense Minister."

The Premier pressed a button and Soviet logistics officer Dasha Fedorovna appeared on the screen on the right wall. She greeted her boss warmly, eyeing his captive guest. They conversed in rapid Russian with Hanley trying to decipher what (_'traitorous'_) words (_'general'_) she could pick up. _What?_

The screen flashed with exclusive footage of the Battle of Easter Island. In the background were the remains of Bingham's makeshift base of operations. There was a sudden flurry of images and dialogues in a language she barely knew—making it all the more difficult to understand. But the look on the face of Soviet Marshal of Aviation Zhana Agonskaya told her that something went drastically wrong.

The following shots showed scenes of battle shown in an entirely different perspective—Soviet apocalypse tanks going at it. _What the hell?_ Twin Blade helicopters falling prey to MiGs. _What is going on?_ The angry faces of the Defense Minister. _Power games?_ In the end, it was a vast mess with Easter Island reduced to a battered volcano littered with craters, burning metal, and debris.

The final transmission was that of former Soviet Premier Anatoly Cherdenko. He was angry. _Very angry._ "Why… this?"

_I guess I don't have much of a choice now that you saw what no one else is supposed to see. _"Dr. Zelinsky told me about Cherdenko's meddling with time. At first I thought he was delirious." Lissette turned to listen to the man on the desk with eyes full of shock and confusion. "But then came his sudden disappearance. And the 'attempt' on Cherdenko's life. Then Krukov's death. It was only until the Defense Minister converged on us that it all made sense to me. Zhana did not know. Oleg did not know. Moskvin did not know. Nobody knew. Except Cherdenko, Krukov, Zelinsky, and myself."

She shook her head. _This isn't right._ "How… wha… huh?"

"Dasha, the logistics officer whom you saw awhile back, sided with me then and there. Oleg, Moskvin, Zhana… they all went with me to Moscow. We marched with our forces and…" The Premier shook his head laughing softly. "…the only blood spilled was that of Cherdenko's and those who were foolish enough to be loyal to a snake like him."

"That explains the… coup." Shortly after the Battle of Easter Island, shockwaves rippled from Moscow, felt only by the world of espionage and conspiracy theorists. "You were the one behind it. You mustered the battalion outside the city and…"

"The Politburo was wise enough to stand out of our way."

"But you… murdered your own."

"He came at us first. What would you feel if Bingham turned coats on you?"

_He'd never!_ "Don't you _dare _say that! You don't know him!"

"Cherdenko tried to save the Union. But he was just like most of the power mongers in this world today… no different from the corrupt masters of the West."

Silence. Lissette Hanley looked at the leader of the Soviet Union—a young man who aged just as quickly as he rose up the ranks. His hands were on his laps. His eyes looking far off into a distance that no one but him could see. His face and hands wrapped in veins and scarred by fire.

"Are you sure you wouldn't backstab us with this treaty of yours?" she croaked.

He looked up at her. "The people are tired. Almost all of Eurasia has been liberated from their capitalist overlords. As much as my comrades would like to ensure the fall of the United States, it is clear that it would only lead to more death and destruction… and it is time that we allowed for a world revolution to take place far from our hands."

_What a devout commie. _"Where's the venue?"

"The White House." Lissette's eyes went wide. "In the office of your new President who I believe is more kind to us."

_No. Way._ "On American soil… at our very own capital?"

"Yes."

She rubbed her temples. "I… I'm not… I'm not going until you keep your word, got it?"

The Premier smiled. "Don't worry. I will go there myself. No tricks, no hidden cards; only the elite guard of the Soviet Army."

_This is something. This is definitely something. I don't believe it. I can't believe it!_ She couldn't help the grin that slowly grew from ear to ear. _Oh my God!_

"Always stick beside me. Who knows what your comrades would do to snatch you out of our hands?"

"Wait." She was now thoroughly mixed in a pot of emotions. "I'm not going free?"

"Not yet."

She expected a big "no" but the two words that had left the man's mouth assured her that someday, she would see the light of her hometown. She settled down into her seat. "So I'm just going to stay right next to you for the duration of the whole meeting?"

"Until we return. But don't worry. There is a reception afterwards. You could walk around on your own but my guards will be there. And I am warning you not to stray away from our custody."

_But this would endanger his position… he wouldn't do this if he were… no. He's just as staunch to his beliefs as Yoshiro. _She let her eyes stray to the other parts of the office. "What do your…"—she looked at the bust of Lenin—"… comrades think of this?"

"Some agree. Some do not." She knew who he referred to.

"You're really going for this."

"If I were not, then you would rotting in your cell at the Lubyanka."

_He is definitely risking everything for this. _"So it's just me, you, and the best of the Soviet Army."

"Indeed. That is not to mention our skilled diplomats." _My men._

Hanley took a step back and allowed her mind to wander around. There were two cases: if he was true to his word or not. If he wasn't a double-crosser like Cherdenko, this would mean that the Soviet Union would raise their guns and hang their coats. Although it would bring an end to the turmoil, there was always the undesired effect of creating another Cold War. That is, if things turned out well. Avoiding such was possible but difficult to attain. It was one of many things she learned in her time in the French espionage directorates.

However, if things went awry, (_God knows what's going to happen!_) the Soviet Union would be mustering up its forces surely double (_triple_) in number thanks to the annexation of Europe and most of Asia. With the stabilization policies recently passed, technologies of the Empire at their disposal, and propaganda leading their citizens to take up arms, the United States and whatever allies it had left would be waging a war of attrition. And the end result would likely be in favor of the Communists.

At least, that's what she thought.

"Alright." She took the Premier's hand firmly. The man smiled.

"Wise choice."

_I could have chosen to die. _"My cards are on the table."

_And we wager all that we have for this._ "You don't know how long I have been playing this game."

* * *

><p><em>If only she could remember… <em>The Premier shook his head. _No. It is clear that she has more pressing matters to attend to. But still, if only she could still dig up those old memories._

Dasha Fedorovna. When the Premier was but a boy of no less than three, he had played with little Dasha on the snowy parks of Moscow along with her siblings. Had it not been for that exercise accident, she probably would have served in the air force alongside Comrade Marshal of Aviation Zhana Agonskaya. And probably would have given her life under someone's—or even _his_—command.

_All it took was one shell. And she is my intelligence officer. _A fragment of steel was still embedded in her brain but did little to no harm. Except for robbing her of precious memories.

And for a moment there, he had forgotten this meeting's agenda.


	2. Chapter 2

Upon exiting the armored vehicle, the first thing that hit her eyes was the blinding flashes of the media. Photographers, reporters, and cameramen had already swarmed into the arms of the Premier's guards lined up teen feet away. For a moment, she couldn't see. She let her hand move about until she felt a firm tug on her sleeve. She felt a grab and soon she was looking into the Premier's eyes.

"Don't stray."

She nodded. It was a long walk to the conference room. A wave of nostalgia engulfed her as they passed through the exquisite halls that held the portraits of previous presidents. She didn't know whether or not they would hang Ackerman's (_or better yet a robot's_) painting on the wall. Neither did the White House.

Reception was strangely awkward. The leadership of the United States met with the leadership of the Soviet Union—the President and the Premier; American diplomats and Russian diplomats.

The Premier gestured at Hanley. Immediately, all attention shifted to her. She was greatly discomforted by the idea of being a prized relic in a prestigious museum. She forced out a smile, waving at the cameras and then at her old bosses.

However, all this clutter did not hamper the scheduled catering of those present. The hosts and the guests took in their fills and mustered up the strength to have a chat with their counterparts. That is with the exemption of the President, the Premier, and his "token of peace". Lissette hated that term, which she believed was now being popularized by the American (and Western) media.

The Premier leaned into her ear. "You can now waltz around. But when the negotiations begin, always stick by my side."

She nodded agreement and did her best to sustain the joy of having been (temporarily) released from her cage—or rather, the Premier's space bubble. And just in time to run into a familiar face.

"Liz?"

Her eyes went wide. "Warren!"

* * *

><p>The <em>V. I. Lenin<em> was one of the earliest and most decorated dreadnaughts in the history of the Soviet Naval forces. Built in the early days of Cherdenko's militarization policies, it was the first and most popular of its class of siege battleships rivaling the Allies' aircraft carriers and (later on) the Empire's shogun battleships.

It was first deployed against the Germans at the beginning of the War in the European theater—strategically bombarding Allied strongholds as well as causing collateral damage to the nearby cities. Following the collapse of Berlin, the dreadnaught continued its deathly hail of V4 rockets unchallenged until it received the payload of a vengeful Vindicator-class bomber off the shores of Spain.

Despite this, the captain of the ship pushed for on-board repairs which apparently saved it from a watery grave at the hands of two American assault destroyers—part of a troop convoy sent to aid the Europeans. What followed was an intense exchange of rockets and artillery that resulted in the sinking of both destroyers and the crippling of the dreadnaught.

Sustaining heavy damage, the _V. I. Lenin_ was immediately sent to the docks at Leningrad for repairs and an intensive overhaul. This potentially spared it from the fate suffered by its sisters at the hands of the British at Brighton Beach much to the anger of the late Chief of the General Staff of the Soviet Armed Forces Nikolai Krukov.

After a year of intensive work and effort, the dreadnaught was now outfitted with the latest technologies in the Soviet Navy but the war had taken a turn with the entry of the Empire of the Rising Sun. Once more, it faced off against a new rival—the shogun battleship. It managed to sink one at the cost of its refitted hulls and several of its crew. And again, it returned to the docks for another overhaul.

However, by the time the _V. I. Lenin_ left the port, the War was nearing its end in favor of the Soviet Union and under a new leader. This new and extremely popular Premier decided to use the newly outfitted vessel as his personal transportation in his journey to the capital of the United States of America with the intention of ending the conflict peacefully.

Now, it was not far off the American coast flanked by two Akula-class submarines and ten more American battleships. The captain knew that his crew was getting edgy. He sighed. He was chosen to command this mighty vessel because of his professionalism and excellent performance in the previous years. A minor standoff with enemy (_not for long_) forces would not deter his confidence and ego. At least, it worked for him.

"Comrade Captain,"—it was his first mate—"how long will this meeting hold?"

"I am not sure, comrade. As far as I am concerned, affairs in politics usually last from a day to a week." _In this case, probably two weeks._

The first mate transitioned from whispering to being audible for others outside the bridge to hear. "So we're sitting ducks here!?"

"Keep your voice down!" the captain ordered. "This is just temporary. After all, the Premier is negotiating a ceasefire. And it's about time that we ended this cursed War. It has gone long enough already." The _zampolit_, a fresh graduate from the Academy, kept a straight face and decided not to intervene.

_Two years is long enough, right?_ The first mate gulped. "But the Second World War spanned six years—"

"That does not mean that this should. I shall pretend that this conversation never happened." He locked eyes with the political officer in the corner. _Nothing happened._

"_Ya panimayu_, Comrade Captain." He understood.

Down bellow, the men keeping the V4 rockets in their pods could not help themselves from peeking over the railings to the other ships not far off. They could make out the American crews doing the same. The only difference was that they had cannons aimed at them. The _V. I. Lenin_ only had three heavy launchers and two pairs of turrets on each end. The upper turrets were for anti-air defenses. The ones below them served a similar purpose as the shogun battleships' main guns but with reduced size and range.

In the back of his mind, the captain still wondered why their only security was comprised of only two Akula-class submarines. They could have included a batch of Typhoon-class but then again, they seemed greatly outdated. Besides, it was a sudden move and the Navy admirals had no time to shell out their own destroyers.

The captain peered through his binoculars. From his post, he could see the White House (_the mind of this capitalist state_). If they came here as an invading force, then they would have included Wall Street (_the heart of capitalism!_) on the list of targets to be destroyed…or captured. They probably would have even destroyed the Statue of Liberty and replaced it with a statue of Lenin. The captain sighed. _It would have probably been a bloody but glorious operation. Yes, bloody because many lives will be lost; we must sacrifice all for the Motherland. Yes, glorious because we could be destroying the center of capitalism itself!_

He didn't know how right he was. And even then, the Premier had done everything he could to keep Operation _Ozvobozhdeniye_ from being carried out.

* * *

><p>The first phase of the sudden negotiations ended in favor of the Premier's terms. It was already dusk. The diplomats and their leaders took their fill at the banquet.<p>

Lissette sat next to the Premier. Together they had their meals without anything deeper than greetings and salutations. Seemingly enough, she felt like she was handcuffed to the guy.

"I am sure you enjoyed the company of your friends," the man suddenly started. He was now looking at her.

She looked to the other patrons around the food-laden table. They weren't paying much attention. _But the media surely is… wherever they are._ Even with the absence of cameras and pesky reporters, she still felt as though they were in this very hall. _This is very awkward._ "Yeah I guess you could say that," she replied, astonished at how casual she sounded.

"Our discussions have gone smoothly, so far."

"What makes you say that?"

The Premier looked to his subordinates—efficient speakers and skilled consuls—who were distracted enough not meet his gaze. "I am greatly unnerved by the effects of this meeting."

_Just as I thought._ "Something going on back home?"

"Everything has a consequence, no matter how beneficial it is." He finished off the last of his dish and waited for the morsels of food to land in his stomach before he continued. "I knew that I would displease the Party with my decision. But I did it for the sake of the people."

"I am aware of that." _Oh my God… Something is definitely up. _The words she just heard were not to be openly discussed.

He let his head drop much to her surprise. "I am the Premier. I am the head of state of the Soviet Union." _Even though I have disappointed higher authorities, I must push for a change. For the Motherland!_ He looked up at Lissette and smiled. As though what they had was a meager conversation.

He fooled everyone else. But he didn't fool Hanley who smiled back briefly to show her apparent distrust. He didn't even fool the President of the United States who eyed the Premier wearily hoping to read the man's thoughts. Most of all, he didn't fool the observing KGB colonels who quickly chirped up a report that he sent to his comrades at Dzerzhinsky Square. In less than an hour, the Chairman of the Committee for State Security made a call to the General Secretary of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union who then organized an urgent meeting with his inner circle—the Soviet Politburo.

* * *

><p>Today's Party meeting was burning with fiery tongues. Both the Politburo and the Council of Ministers gathered within the Kremlin's walls to discuss the Premier's surprise move.<p>

Defense Minister Oleg Vodnik could only cringe at the dialogues of his comrades. His best friend, the Premier of the Soviet Union, was left with only a handful of allies—himself included. The KGB Chairman led the opposition and was winning. _I know you're hiding something Comrade Chairman. I don't know what it is. But I caught wind of your little emergency meeting two nights ago._

"Comrade Defense Minister," It was the General Secretary. "What is your say on this?"

_What should I say? _"I…" he stuttered for a moment. _Come on, Oleg!_ "I cannot say any more than the fact that the Premier has done what he deemed was necessary. He has put forth a plan that he hopes would bring a more colorful future to the Motherland."

"And to the American capitalists!" the Chairman let out.

"But, comrade, isn't it time that we allow for recuperation? What of our resources? Sufficient food for the people? Welfare?" Now Oleg found some ground on which to put his defense. He spoke for ten minutes. In that time, he saw the hope in the faces of his allies. Everyone else did their best to look as neutral as possible. But all had an idea of what they really felt.

"You have forgotten, Comrade Defense Minister," the Minister of Foreign Affairs began, "that the Americans are in possession of technologies as sophisticated as that of our former European enemies. Given the time that we allow them to recover from their mishap with their robotic president, they may begin building up their forces in preparation for a preemptive strike against us." His discourse was swift and immediately followed by the Chairman and the other ministers who expressed their stand on his side.

The Minister of Agriculture made one last attempt to turn the tide of the debate. He was not successful. The Chairman restrained himself from grinning.

Oleg was evidently frustrated. He nodded when the General Secretary finished his rhetoric. By the time the meeting ended, the Minister of Defense balled his hands into fists until he reached his _zhiguli_. For the duration of the trip to his dacha, he buried his head in his hands.

Operation _Ozvobozhdeniye _(Liberation) would begin in five months.


	3. Chapter 3

_Five months_. For five months, Lissette had a gut feeling that something was off, that something was terribly wrong. It all began weeks after the signing of the Washington Treaty—a set of documents sealing the tense relationship between the world's two superpowers.

Today was the day they would depart back to Russia. This was their third visit and she had been allowed to walk freely among her fellow Americans who made sure that she hadn't been "turned" before they could have a casual conversation. It was during this time that she picked up rumors of the military build-up and refining of Soviet armed forces.

_Strange. But for what are they beefing up for? It's pretty clear that the U.S. isn't going to…_ It hit her hard. _Oh, God!_

She stood not far off from the Premier who shook hands with the President, smiling faces complete with the regalia that signified their appearance—the former's chest decorated with medals and the latter in a fancy blue suit. The press took their time with the scene. Camera flashes and inquisitive babbling flooded the room with Hanley needing to squint her eyes every now and then. Her Spetsnaz guards could not help but do the same.

Hours later, they were onboard the _V. I. Lenin_. The massive warship waved its colors and was hailed with even more attention from media, civilians, and their new (_capitalist_) friends. The captain escorted the Premier to the bridge where he waved to the Americans for one last time. Hanley was accompanied back to her quarters down below.

"Comrade Premier, the ship is ready to sail."

"_Ochen harasho_, comrade captain." Very well.

The captain gave out his orders and witnessed with pride his crew at work. The _zampolit _stood not far off, wiping the sweat from his brow. The Akula Sub K-570 roved ahead of the massive vessel while its sister, K-490, covered the rear.

The United States of America was at peace with the Union of the Soviet Socialist Republics. The War of the Three Powers had formally and officially ended only five months before. Trade embargoes were lifted. Commerce began to flow more evenly between the two states. Newer policies were brought up as newer men were brought into office.

And they all paved way for a new war.

* * *

><p>He handed him the file. "Comrade Chairman, everything is set. Our agents are awaiting your permission."<p>

The Chairman of the KGB looked up from his desk. He clasped his hands and planted his chin firmly on top. Five months of planning, secrecy, and preparation all came to this. Timing was now. It was all a matter of luck. He nodded. "Permission granted."

"_Da_, Comrade Chairman."

The officer left the office. The Chairman knew that he had sealed the fate his country's finest relic and unwittingly his own.

* * *

><p>Hanley sat on her bunk. At least her guards had the courtesy to allow her privacy. Although, they remained stationed outside the door. She lifted a palm to her face. And wiped off a lot of sweat. <em>God, I hate those cameras!<em>

"At least I got to visit home…" she let her voice trail off. She rested her head on the pillow and released herself into sweet darkness. Still, she couldn't get the thought out of her mind that maybe the Soviet Union was…

What woke her up were the strong vibrations that almost knocked her off the bed. She turned to the doorway… and saw fire. Instinct kicked in and Hanley grabbed the blanket. With swift swings, she cleared a path for herself. The ship was listing. She kept herself from slamming into the adjacent wall. To her left was a pillar of flame. She turned and stumbled upon the remains of her guards.

She spared no time and was already on her feet, not bothering to wipe the blood that had now colored her palms. It was a slanted maze—gravity was really a bitch now.

"Hello? Anyone!" she called.

There was a muffled explosion somewhere deep in the ship and she found herself on the floor again. A hand curled around her arm and she was hoisted up. It was one of the crew men. He immediately recognized her and pointed upward, disregarding the fact that she was back to being a prisoner-of-war. She nodded and made their way to the deck.

The bridge was gone. The rocket pods had been blasted off. The ship's rear half was aflame. Through the railing, she could see two American frigates partially submerged and marked by plumes of smoke. Eight others were trailing their cannons to the doomed dreadnaught. _Oh my God! This can't be happening!_

"You capitalist spy!"

She turned to see the _zampolit _aim his gun at her. He trembled as he did, proud that he could pull of this show so easily. "Easy now…"

"_Nyet_! You… _suka_! You targeted our Premier the whole time!"

She took a step forward. The young officer straightened his back. He was desperate and she could see his eyes well up, again another hidden trait in the espionage business. "I don't understand… listen, I don't even know what's going on."

"Stop lying!"

"Calm down. There are more urgent things to attend to!"

"You cannot sway me!"

"Take a look around you, damn it! Your countrymen are dying and they need a leader to guide them!" The ship's mast came apart as an artillery shell ripped right into it. She grabbed hold of the rail as the vessel listed some more. The _zampolit_ made to lunge at her to complete the most crucial part of the mission. But the beam holding up the section of floor he stood on gave way and his body slammed against a pipe before landing still in the water.

Hanley pulled herself upward. Down below, she could see Soviet sailors—dead and wounded—screaming and struggling to stay afloat. _This is all bullshit! Where's the Premier?_ She looked at where the bridge used to stand. _Oh God no…_

A sailor lost his grip and crashed into her and they both fell into the water. Hanley burst through the surface and grabbed a hold of some floating debris shared by another bleeding man. She watched the ship succumb to its sudden fate. After that, she, and several other terrified seamen, remained afloat for almost an hour.

The first frigate rolled in, dropping ladders and lifesavers. Hanley looked at the man across her. He didn't move. She pressed her fingers against his neck. _Poor kid._ No use in dragging a dead body with her. She abandoned the platform and swam for one of the ladders.

"Hey guys! We got a live one here!" someone hollered. She was lifted up by several pairs of hands.

In minutes, she was in the ward. "Jesus Christ! What the fuck just happened?"

"Warren… Oh God…" she cringed as a needle made its way into her arm. "Shit happened… I don't know…"

"Never mind. We got P.O.W.s to save before we sort out this mess."

She gave a puzzled look. "What?"

"Ceasefire's out the window. We're at war with the bastards again."

She pinched the bridge of her nose. _They killed the Premier! Bastards… damn them! Damn them!_

"The United States Navy recently engaged the _V.I. Lenin_…" the news anchor reported.

* * *

><p>Soviet Defense Minister Oleg Vodnik felt his stomach drop. Exclusive media footage of the sinking of the dreadnaught fueled the rage that built up inside him. He clenched his fists (<em>those<em>) hard enough (_bastards!_) to draw blood.

Oleg spotted the headlights of a vehicle outside his dacha. He already knew who they were here. He headed to the door and opened it to see the muzzles of two automatic rifles aimed at him. The KGB captain took three steps forward. "Soviet Defense Minister Oleg Suslovich Vodnik! You are hereby placed under arrest for treason against the Motherland and involvement in the conspiracy to murder Premier—"

_No!_ His fists were balled so tight that they were as pale as the snow on the ground. The captain repeated his rhetoric with a harsher tone. _My friend… _Oleg complied and was escorted out of his dacha and into the cold night, facing the bitter gale brought about by bitter comrades. _You will all pay!_

* * *

><p>Aboard the K-570, Captain Klementi Ilyanovich Zoburyev and his political officer exchanged looks. This was very frustrating. <em>I should have known…<em>

The tragic loss of the _V. I. Lenin_ and its occupants was something that would make a citizen weep and a soldier angry enough to break the neck of an American. However, in this case, the anger was neither directed at the Americans nor its capitalist allies. Rather, it was at the Soviet Politburo, the heads of state of the USSR. The reason for their rage sat on the table in front of them.

There were only two of them in the room. The steel door was thick enough to completely muffle out the sounds coming from inside.

"It is hard to believe this," the _zampolit_ began slowly, his voice cracked from fatigue and a near mental breakdown.

"Regardless, it is a fact that has presented itself to us."

Zoburyev picked up the detonator and felt out its wires. They acquired the device just as they were about to submerge. The engineer knew what it was and ended up being relieved early from his shift. "Klementi, I am your friend. Setting aside our political doctrines and ideological beliefs, what do you make of this personally?"

It was rare for _zampoliti_ to confide in the officers they supervised. But in this case, Lieutenant Mikhailo Yozmiv had neared the breaking point. Zoburyev leaned forward.

"I think…that the Party has betrayed the people…by killing its most effective leader."

"You cannot be—"

"Think, Misha! We were given orders—_orders_!—to escort the Premier in his diplomatic trips to the Americans. But it turned out that our 'comrades' at the K-490 were given explicit instructions to launch torpedoes at the Americans so they could open fire on us!"

Yozmiv was silent. His hands were shaking again and he pressed them hard against his lap, wiping the sweat that still came.

"I am sorry, Misha," Zoburyev continued, "but you asked for my opinion and I gave it to you."

"_Eta harasho, tavarisch_."

The captain clasped the detonator in his palm. "For now, we have to hide this evidence of treason—"

"I know a place."

"You are a _zampolit_, not to mention a Party member. How could you—"

Yozmiv held up his hand. "My service is to the People, not the Party. The Party cannot hide its flaws and the Premier did his best to iron them out."

Zoburyev smiled. "_Spasiba balshoye_, Misha."

* * *

><p>Over the course of the next two days, the Soviet Union enforced a surprise blockade of the Atlantic and began its two-front invasion of the United States of America—the landing of Soviet troops on the East Coast and the crossing of the Bering Strait into Alaska.<p>

Warren reviewed the intelligence reports from a shaky agent. Soviet intercontinental ballistic missiles carrying vacuum implosive warheads were now targeted at strategic points throughout the continent. The first of thousands had taken off six minutes earlier and was estimated to strike its target of Washington D.C. within an hour.

"And our silos?"

"Sir, as you already know, half of them have been sabotaged—"

"Like hell!"

The President was losing it. Everyone was. Warren did his best to keep his composure and waited for the man's next order. The missile shield was untested. Better to launch a counterattack with whatever they had. In two minutes, the first and only batch of re-outfitted American ICBMs was calibrated to target Moscow.

The missiles were equipped with thermonuclear warheads, a design stolen from the battle labs in Siberia by agents who had already breathed their last. _Thank espionage for this! _They hoped which of the two would be more destructive. Thermonuclear physics was something new to science—picking up where Einstein and his colleagues had left off.

Outside the panic room, Lissette watched as the men and women frantically paced around doing what they should and shouldn't do at a time like this. They all had something to loose—friends, family. Unlike her, she only had herself. _And Giles who's still back in Russia._

Knowing that she was completely unnoticed, she pressed her ear against the wall. The Secret Service agents were all upstairs. Despite the thickness of the steel door, they were all shouting inside.

"Mr. President, we are waiting on your order!"

"It is given."

Lissette froze. From that point on, the fate of millions had been decided. The Fourth World War, however, was not going to be the last.


End file.
